


Gene's War

by ruinsrebuilt



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, eugene roe - character study, mostly canon-compliant, some canon-divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10112168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruinsrebuilt/pseuds/ruinsrebuilt
Summary: The untold story of combat medic Eugene Roe, and his journey to D-Day + 434.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you love Eugene Roe as much as I do, you've probably found yourself wondering at one time or another what his story and experiences look like outside of the brief glimpses we see in Band of Brothers. Well my friend, you have come to the right place. This is my (feeble) attempt to write down what I think might have been, and to delve deeper into the character of this amazing, humble man. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Special thank you to my lovely friend, Maddie (tumblr: @snowmedics) for consulting with me, and for being a badass when it comes to character insight. 
> 
> And to my amazing beta, Rachel (tumblr: @thatsnotmozarts) for getting down and dirty with my work so that you don't have to. Behold, the reason my writing doesn't suck as much as it used to.

War. 

The papers were full of it. Everywhere you turned there was another newsstand, another front page article, another newsboy heralding the word at the top of his lungs. Conversations on the street were of little else, and advertisements of a scowling old man pointing an accusatory finger at onlookers were plastered on every window, fence, and lamppost. Smaller versions of it littered the streets, blowing in the muggy breeze and knocking into the legs of innocent bystanders, crinkling accusations as they went. 

Gene shifted his bag of tools over his shoulder and leaned down to peel one off the bottom of his shoe. He blinked at the words staring back at him. 

_We want YOU._

He knew it was just a piece of paper, really he did. But somehow Gene couldn’t help the feeling that the man was staring at him, singling him out from the millions of other men looking at the same advertisement.

The idea of war had never really occurred to Gene, at least not in the context of his own life, until that fateful day when it was announced that the United States would be entering the war in Europe. The news hit Gene like a ton of bricks. 

His country was going to war. People were going to die. 

Innocents, young men barely on the cusp of adulthood would be lining up with the grandiose idea of gaining glory for themselves and their country and all but running into early graves. 

He knew it had to be done. Somewhere in the world there were young men, and children, and innocents who didn’t have a choice as they were marched to an early grave. He thought about the people who were losing their lives at that precise moment while he stood safely by the peaceful curb in Louisiana, contemplating the idea of entering a war they had been living for years. It was a luxury, he realized, the choice he now faced. Given to him by mere circumstance — the fact that he happened to be born on this side of the Atlantic. 

Although, if he were honest with himself, there never was a choice. Not for him. He knew what he had to do, and he would do it. The idea of killing repulsed him, but defending life against this gross injustice outweighed his reservations. 

Gene shoved the paper into his pocket and continued down the street. He was looking forward to getting back to work. It would keep his mind busy and away from daunting reality. 

 

+

 

The walk home that evening was quiet and heavy. He walked slowly, only speeding up when home came into view. Gene stopped across the street and allowed himself a moment to admire the familiar sight, taking great care to catalogue every detail in his mind for when he would no longer get to see it everyday. 

The small house sat on stilts, a common style for this far south, and mossy vines grew up the terracing that surrounded the open space beneath it. The windows were open, allowing warm air to fill the house and soft light to filter out into the purple twilight. Gene lived for nights like these, coming home from a long day of work to his mama’s wonderful cooking and a drowsy evening spent on the front porch. 

He would miss nights like these. 

With a sigh, he walked up the stairs to the wrap around porch and opened the screen door. The creaky hinges were the nightly announcement of his return and and he was greeted en force by his two younger sisters, thundering down the stairs in a whirlwind. The twins were a force of nature and it had become their tradition to run full speed at Gene when he entered the house, throwing themselves into his arms as though he hadn’t seen them just that morning. 

Gene laughed and lifted both girls into the air (no small feat, but one he had done enough times that it was muscle-memory now) and in a self-indulgent moment held them a little longer than usual. 

He set them down and looked at two sets of smiling blue eyes gazing up at him. “How’s it going mes trésors?” 

The answering chatter of two excited twelve year old girls was almost enough to make him regret asking. He laughed. 

“Alright, slow down. One at a time.” He glanced fondly between the two. Some had trouble telling them apart, and they made it a special point to mess with people, including their older brothers, but they had yet to fool Gene. 

He narrowed his eyes playfully at Charlotte, who was the more outgoing of the two. “Did we get up to our usual mischief today?” 

Charlotte exchanged glances with Lydia and the two of them giggled. “I wish. Maman put us straight to work when we got home and we only finished the wash an hour ago. You should have seen the stain on Mr. Gibson’s shirt, it took ages to get out.” 

“I see. Well you know Mr. Gibs, he’s a messy eater on the best of days.” Gene winked. “Thanks for helping maman.”

Lydia nodded. “Of course. She’s so busy now, she hardly gets a rest.” Of course Lydia, sweet and observant, had noticed the worn way Mama held herself when she thought no one was looking. Gene thought he had been the only one to notice. 

Gene nodded and frowned, reminded again of the weight that bore down on them all. 

The war hadn’t left his family untouched, and times were tough. Maman and Grandmére had been forced to take on extra work, laundry mostly, baking for the farmers market on the weekends, and Dad was taking as many extra construction jobs as he could, giving the excess work to Gene and his brothers. 

Back when things were steadier, they would go on jobs together, a real working family. Father & Sons. It was good work, Gene liked it. He was a natural at working with his hands so it came easy to him, and he loved working with his dad and brothers. Having something that allowed them to spend time together. 

Outside of work their interests were polar opposites, his dad and brothers preferring to work outside in the shop, fiddling with whatever project they’d chosen for the week. Whereas Gene, after a long day of work, always chose to putter around the kitchen with Maman or help the twins with their homework. Occasionally he’d even go on rounds with Grandmére, who was the local traiteuse, and in almost constant demand. The woman was a saint. Gene loved to watch her work, marveled at the way her presence immediately calmed her patients. She was even busier now, with the war leaving many families unable to afford the care they needed. He wondered how little Marie was doing. She had fallen out of a tree and broken her arm, and Gene had gone along to assist. Grandmére was going to check on her in a few days, and Gene had been planning to go with her. That wasn’t going to happen now. 

Gene felt a small hand wiggle it’s way into his own calloused one. He looked down at Lydia, who was looking back at him with a sad expression in her eyes. He gave her a weak smile, and squeezed her hand. Lottie had wandered off in the time Gene had been lost in his own thoughts, and he could hear the clanging of pots in the kitchen. 

“Let’s go see if we can give Maman a hand, uh?” 

Lydi studied him for a moment before finally smiling. “Okay.” 

 

+

 

One thing about living in a big family is: dinner is chaos, everyone speaking at once, asking the person across from them to pass the bowl of whatever it was they needed, or sharing a funny story from the day. That night was no exception. Everyone was talking animatedly, passing food from person to person, and laughing raucously.

Gene pushed his food around on his plate and tried to pay attention to the story Walter was currently telling (something about a german shepherd?) Usually, Gene loved dinner time, loved to hear all the shenanigans from the day. He would even share a story of his own on occasion, though most of the time he was content to listen, and laugh until he was wiping tears from the crinkled corners of his eyes. But tonight he felt as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he couldn't bring himself to even smile. 

They had talked plenty of times about the war in general — it was hard not to when it was everywhere — but the subject of the boys and whether or not they were going had never come up. It was being purposefully avoided, although Gene knew his parents were preparing themselves. 

He wondered if Walt or Jon had been thinking about joining up. They were the kind you’d expect to up and join the army. Both of his brothers were the go-get-em type of guys with broad shoulders and even broader smiles; everything about them practically screamed American Hero.  
Gene was much slighter, and quieter, and he doubted whether his family (or anyone else) had even considered the possibility that he would go to war. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t doing it to prove anything.

“Gene?” 

The noise of dinner had died down without him noticing and Gene looked up from his full plate to find his family all looking expectantly back at him. 

He silently cursed himself for not paying more attention. “Huh?”

His father was looking at him shrewdly. “Something on your mind, son? You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.” 

Gene shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was definitely not how he'd have chosen to have this particular conversation, but it was probably as good a time as any. He paused for a second, collecting his thoughts. His grandmother was looking at him with concern, as if she could tell what he had to say was weighing on him.

“I’m joining up.” The words came out softly but Gene was surprised at the strength that coated them, and how easily they slipped from his trembling lips. It wasn’t nearly as hard to get them out as he had imagined, and he silently sent up a prayer of thanks. 

There was a shocked silence. 

His grandmother gazed at him for a long time before she seemed to find whatever it was she was looking for and gave him the smallest of nods. Gene thought he saw a tear glistening in the corner of her dark blue eyes. 

The rest of them were staring at him, wide-eyed. Gene’s mother had her hand over her mouth, but something like a sob still escaped her fingers. 

His dad cleared his throat. “Well son… Don’t you think we ought to talk about this? I mean, you’re talking about war. Boot camp, combat.” 

There it was. That subtle but loud implication. He was too gentle, too slight. Too soft. Gene didn't blame his father for his reaction but it pricked him all the same. 

Gene shook his head. “No. There’s nothing to talk about.” He paused, gazing at his father and trying to communicate everything he couldn’t find the words to say. “People are dying.” 

Something hardened in his father’s eyes. “Yes. People are dying. But what help are you going to give by dying too, huh? What could that possibly do, except waste a good soul and break your family’s hearts?” 

Gene didn’t waver. “If I knew I was going to get killed in the first three minutes, I would still go. People are making greater sacrifices for less.” 

No one knew what to say to that. Gene looked to Walt who was seated across from him. Walt was looking back at him, but his gaze was unseeing, his brows scrunched in concentration. Beside him, Jon was looking down at his plate, his hands resting in fists on the table. 

Charlotte had been watching the conversation unfold, and finally she stood and ran from the room. Gene watched her go and felt his heart go with her. Lydia had known this was coming, she had seen it in his eyes. But Charlotte, innocent Charlotte who lived in a world of endless possibilities and perpetual light, immune from the heartache that sometimes came with being alive, had been blindsided by the news that her closest brother was leaving and might not come back. 

His Mama made a move to follow, but Gene held up his hand. “No, maman. Let me…please.” Her eyes were still red, and a new round of tears were forming, but she nodded. 

“She’ll be in the treehouse.” 

 

+

 

The treehouse was situated in the far corner of their mostly wooded back yard, in a sprawling maple that had been there for decades. Their dad had built it years ago, when the boys were still young, wild-eyed bandits in need of a hideout in which to plan their nefarious crimes. Gene had a lot of fond memories in it, although, surprisingly, most of them were from much later, after the hideout at been handed down to the twins. They would often drag him up to their playhouse to play pretend for hours at a time, and he would do whatever they wished, collapsing into fits of laughter when they insisted on drawing whiskers on him or making him be the tickle monster that chased them around the yard. Gene also cherished memories of heartfelt conversations and whispered secrets, of the two girls often stealing him away to their sanctuary to confide in him, their most trusted advisor. 

Gene gazed up at the weathered structure. Rungs had been nailed directly into the tree, all the way up it’s broad trunk, stopping just below the hatch situated at the front of the treehouse. The hatch panel was closed, and the homemade ‘do not disturb’ sign was hanging on it’s nail. He climbed up the ladder quietly, pausing to listen when he reached the top.

There was no real lock on the hatch, for safety reasons, but for all intents and purposes, the ‘do not disturb’ sign was the lock. When the sign was up you didn’t enter unless you were invited. 

Gene knocked on the panel. 

“Charlotte?” 

No answer. 

“Lottie, I know you’re in there. C’mon sweet girl, let me in.” 

Nothing. 

Gene sighed, pulling himself onto an adjacent tree limb and straddling, his back resting against the treehouse. He was quiet for a while. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time I thought I lost you?” 

This got the treehouse occupant’s attention; Gene could hear her shifting closer to the door. He waited until the rustling stopped before he continued. 

“I was around your age at the time… you were maybe four or five. Maman let me walk you down the street to get some ice-cream to bring back to Lydi. She was sick and you wanted so badly to cheer her up. When we got to the end of the block I turned my back for just a second while I was buying the ice cream. But those few moments were enough, and when I turned around to hand you your cone, you were in the middle of the street, a car headed straight for you. I didn’t even have time to call out.”

Gene smiled at the little gasp that came from inside the treehouse. 

“But there was a man standing much closer than I was, and he dove in front of the car, rolling you to the side out of harm’s way. You were okay.” 

Gene laid his head against the wall of the treehouse and turned his head toward the hatch. “Do you know what that man said to me when I thanked him for saving your life?” 

The hatch opened an inch or two, and Gene could see Charlotte peeking out at him. “What?” 

“He said ‘I didn’t have a choice.’” Gene paused. “I remember what it felt like when I thought you were going to die and there was nothing I could do. And I remember what it felt like to see someone risk their life to save you. He put his life in harms way, and you’re here because he did.” 

Charlotte didn’t say anything so Gene continued, “Lottie, what would you have said if that man’s family asked him to stay safely on the sidewalk and not save you?” 

There was a sigh, followed by a creak as the hatch opened further. Lottie scooted to the edge, sitting just inside the opening and letting her legs hang over the edge. She didn’t say anything for a while.

Finally she looked at Gene. “I know you have to go. But Gene,” her voice was very small, “what if the car’s too fast?” 

Gene didn’t say anything but reached out and gently squeezed her hand. 

 

+

 

Two days later Gene was on his way to the train station with his dad, who had offered to give him a lift. Because it was nearly two hours away, the rest of the family hadn’t been able to make the journey and Gene had been forced to say his goodbyes on the front porch. It was bittersweet, but probably better this way. Gene didn’t think he would’ve been able to walk away from them on the platform in a strange station. He was glad that his last mental picture of his family would be of them standing on the front porch of home, where they belonged. 

The drive was silent, neither of them saying much, and what little was said between them was stilted and tense. It wasn’t until they stood on the platform that his dad even looked him in the eye. He cleared his throat, glancing around the station before finally meeting Gene’s eyes. 

“Gene… son. I know this isn’t something I can talk you out of. And I know I haven’t made this decision any easier for you, although I can’t bring myself to apologize for that, but it’s only because…” he put a fist to his mouth, clearing his throat again, “well… it’s because love you. And I don’t want to have to say goodbye any time soon.”

Gene looked at his dad with love and unabashed admiration. “I love you too, Dad. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to come home.” 

His dad nodded, unable to say anything else. He surged forward pulling Gene into a bone-crushing hug. Gene buried his face in his shoulder and felt him plant a kiss on his head. 

The train whistle blew and his dad pulled away. “Better get going. Can’t have you arriving late to save the world.” 

Gene smiled softly, and picked up his small suitcase, backing away, unwilling to turn his back just yet. “I’ll be back.” 

His dad smiled at him, and he finally turned, heading towards the door of the train. He wasn’t supposed to, but he heard his dad over the din of the station. “I know you will.”

~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! For updates on this fic, as well as what else I'm up to, feel free to follow me on tumblr: @ruinsrebuilt <3


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